


The Firm Hand of the Law

by plainapple



Category: Psych
Genre: Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, M/M, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plainapple/pseuds/plainapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn goes undercover at a BDSM club and runs into Lassiter. He assumes Lassiter is undercover as well. He's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Firm Hand of the Law

**Author's Note:**

> I want to apologize to the first 156 readers of this post. In my sloppy and lackadaisical read-over of the preview window I failed to notice that several rather essential paragraphs had been deleted during the copy and paste process. Please enjoy the new and improved coherent version of this story!

It was sort of comfortable in its familiarity; the irritation, the anger, the rage mixed in with every other seething emotion Shawn stirred in him, some Lassiter would own to, some he wouldn’t allow himself to name.  They’d been doing this so long – Shawn doing something idiotic, Lassiter scrambling to save his own ass from the trail of destruction Shawn left in his wake – that it had become routine.  Lassiter didn’t even have to think about the steps, he knew the dance so well.  He dragged Shawn through the crowd to an isolated corner, spun him around to face him, and slammed him back against the wall. He meant to start with something along the lines of ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ or ‘what do you think you’re playing at’, but all that came out was, “Who put this on you?”

Shawn blinked, “What, the collar?” he asked.

Lassiter looped two fingers through the ‘D’ ring hanging off of what was obviously a dog collar around Shawn’s neck. “Yes, the collar.” said Lassiter. “Tell. Me. Who.”  He emphasized each word with a little tug. 

“Um… I did.” said Shawn, “I put on my pants all by myself too, Lassie.  And my socks, and my shoes - although full disclosure - Gus did help tie my laces.” 

Lassiter glanced down at Shawn’s sneakers.  He seriously doubted Guster was responsible for the tangled mass of laces passing as knots, but that was hardly the point.  “You collared yourself?” Lassiter asked.

Shawn frowned, “I did what?”

Lassiter took a deep breath.  Talking like Shawn was a little like being washed down a bathtub drain, endless circles spiraling into a dark oblivion.  He started over.

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?” Lassiter asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Shawn.  Lassiter considered him, gelled hair, skin tight jeans, ridiculous leather vest over his bare chest (Lassiter vaguely remembered Shawn wearing it before during that Tancana business), the   _collar_.   Yeah, on anyone else it would be obvious, but this was Spencer and Lassiter knew better.

“Enlighten me.” said Lassiter.

“I’m here to catch a killer Lass, same as you.  And can I just say my disguise is _way_ better than yours.  Slacks and a button up shirt, Lassie?  Really?  I mean, you don’t have to go full ‘Master’ but you could have at least put on some chaps.  And you call yourself an undercover detective…”

Lassiter stared blankly at Shawn for a moment.  A little too long, apparently, because Shawn’s eyes went wide with his ‘realization’ face.  Lassiter glared, but it was too late.

“You…”

“Shut up.”

“You’re not undercover…”

“Shut. Up.”

“You’re _into_ …”

“You have the right to remain silent.”

“Nu-uh.  No way Lassie.  You can’t arrest me just because I found out your dirty little secret.”

“It’s not dirty, and it’s not a secret.” said Lassiter, “It’s just none of your business.”

“Lassie.” said Shawn, “This is a gay S&M club.  It’s a little dirty.”  Shawn ran his eyes up and down Lassiter, “I can’t _believe_ I let you convince me you were straight!” he exclaimed.

 “I didn’t convince you of anything.” said Lassiter, “Just because I don’t swish around singing show tunes about  unicorn dust with rainbow sauce doesn’t make me responsible for your assumptions.”

Shawn frowned, “There’s a show tune about…”

“Spencer,” Lassiter snapped, “Not the point.”  He shifted, bringing himself even closer into Shawn’s personal space.  “Now please, tell me you’re not here for who I think you are.”

“Well…” said Shawn, “If you think I’m here for Jürgen Prochnow then, no Lassie, I’m not here for who you think I am.”

“Spencer…”

“On the other hand, if you think I’m here for the glory hole killer…”

“God damn it, Spencer.” Lassiter snapped.

“Look, Lass, I know it’s not my case but…”

“What the hell were you going to do?” asked Lassiter, “Hang out in a stall until someone shot you?  You do understand that’s how this guy works, right?  He gets some poor sap to suck him off and then he murders them, Spencer.”

“Yeah, Lass, I saw the video too.”

Lassiter frowned, “You what?  How?  That tape’s locked in evidence.”

Shawn cleared his throat. “I saw it psychically, obviously.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

“And come on, give me a little credit, I wasn’t going to let anyone shoot me, I was just gonna stay in the booth long enough to get an ID then I was gonna call you.”

“Spencer you can’t ID a suspect from his penis, it’s impossible.”

Shawn’s lips quirked into a funny little smile, “Yeah, of course not Lassie.” he said, “But, come on, you know that’s not how I work.  I don’t _look_ at things, I _sense_ things.  I’ll be able to sense when our guy is close.  Trust me.”

“Spencer if you know who the killer is…”

“I don’t.” said Shawn, “Not yet.  But give me a couple hours and I’ll bet you I can find out.”

A couple hours.  A couple hours on his knees in a come stained closet servicing strangers, he meant.  Absolutely not.

“Sorry Spencer,” said Lassiter, “You’re out of luck.  The holes are closed until I decide they’re safe again.”

Shawn arched an eyebrow, “What’d you own this place or something?”

“No.” said Lassiter, “But I run background checks on new members and advise on security issues.  Which begs the question, how’d you get in here in the first place?  This is a private club.”

“Easy, I said I was here with Master Steel.”

Lassiter frowned, “You know Master Steel?”

“No.” said Shawn, “But there’s _always_ a Master Steel.  Trouble is, once they let me in he seemed to think my cover story was some kind of invitation.”  Shawn craned his neck peeking over Lassiter’s shoulder. “He’s the hairy looking guy with the goons in latex who had me cornered when you found me.  You didn’t notice them?”

Of course Lassiter had noticed them.  The way he’d felt when he’d seen them closing in on Shawn… it wasn’t jealousy.  Really, it wasn’t.  He could just tell Shawn didn’t want them and he’d reacted without thinking, grabbed Shawn by the shoulders and yanked him away.  He might have yelled something about Shawn being ‘his’ and promised to break anyone who touched him… he couldn’t remember.  It wasn’t important, it’s not like he _meant_ it, it was just a way to get Shawn away from them. 

 “You’re an idiot.” said Lassiter.

“Look, Lassie,” said Shawn, “Tonight doesn’t have to be a wash, I might still be able to sense whether or not Mr. Blow and Bang is here.”

“Yeah, okay.” said Lassiter, “Go ahead.”

“Umm… I can’t.” said Shawn.

“I’m shocked.”

“Here’s the thing Lass, when I had my vision of the killer he was in the middle of getting sucked off.  People give off very different vibrations when they’re aroused.”

 “So you’re saying…”

“Yes.  I need our killer hot and hard before I’ll be able to psychically connect with him.”

Lassiter shook his head, “Spencer that is literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Your badge is made of twenty eight layers of Kahlúa flavored peanut butter.”

“Excuse me?”

“Now _that’s_ the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard.” said Shawn, “Look, it’s real simple Lass, that stage over there is for little bondage shows, right?”

“I’m not sure anyone here would appreciate you calling them ‘little’, but yes, you’re right.”

“So all we do is wait for the next show and hope the killer’s in the audience and is exited enough to loose the snake.”

“Loose. The snake.” said Lassiter.

“You know what I mean.” said Shawn.

“Unfortunately.” answered Lassiter.

“So…” prompted Shawn.

“Not that your ‘plan’ would have worked anyway, but you’re out of luck,” said Lassiter, “There aren’t any public scenes planned tonight.”

“Huh.” said Shawn, “Guess we’ll have to do one ourselves.”

The din of the club was suddenly drowned out by the blood rushing to Lassiter’s ears.  Spencer really did have the most obnoxious sense of humor.  His lips were still moving, Lassiter assumed he was still talking, but for some reason he couldn’t focus on the words.  Everything was Shawn’s mouth, the flick of his tongue against his lips, his rising chest, the heat off his body, the feel of the steel loop under Lassiter’s fingers.  He shook his head a little, tried to force himself to listen…

“…and then I’ll be all, ‘Oh, Master Detective Lassie, give it to me!’ and you can go all bad cop and be like, ‘Feel the firm hand of the law punk!’ and make me promise to never ever jaywalk again.”

Lassiter let go of Shawn’s collar, keeping one hand firm on Shawn’s shoulder, and closed his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Spencer…” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You need to leave.”

“You should try saying that again when you ‘re not holding me against the wall.  It might be more convincing.  Besides, I’d look pretty silly walking around outside like this.”

The ‘like what?’ on Lassiter’s lips is cut off by the nudge of Shawn’s groin against his leg.

“No.”  said Lassiter, “Just… no.  This is _not_ turning you on.”

“Little Alec Newbary begs to disagree.”

“Please tell me you’re not referring to…” Lassiter was cut off by another roll of Shawn’s hips against his leg. 

“Damn it Spencer!” hissed Lassiter.

“Mmm…” said Shawn, “Come on Lassie, can you really blame me?  You’ve had me pinned to this wall for a while now, don’t pretend you don’t know how much I like that.” Lassiter knew no such thing. “And now that I know you’re not a stranger to the dude on dude… Come on.  You and me Lass, it’s gonna happen eventually, why delay our inevitable epic man love?” Shawn shifted so his groin was lined up with Lassiter’s, “Feels like little Leslie Hunter doesn’t exactly hate my plan either…” Shawn drawled.

“I’m going to shoot you.” said Lassiter.

Shawn rolled his hips again.

“I’m going to shoot you in the face.”

Again.

“I _hate_ you.”

Shawn chuckled, “So tell me to stop…” he muttered, before arching his chest and grinding forward _hard_.

Yes.  Tell Shawn to stop.  That’s what Lassiter was going to do.  That’s exactly what he was going to do.  He swallowed ball of saliva that had formed on his tongue.  He wet his lips.  He opened his mouth.  He was going to tell Shawn to stop. Soon.  Really soon.  Any minute now.  He inhaled…

“You’re sure you can ID our killer?” asked Lassiter.

“Positive.” said Shawn, “Assuming you and me can get whoever he is worked up enough to whip it out.”

Lassiter’s lip curled.  “Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?” he asked.  “This isn’t a ‘nice’ group Shawn.  It’s not going to be enough for them to watch you parade around on stage.  They’re going to want to see you…”

“I know.” said Shawn.  The movement against Lassiter’s leg suddenly stopped.  Lassiter was _not_ disappointed. “I know what they want.” Shawn repeated. He tipped his head up, looking Lassiter in the eye.  “I trust you.” he said.

“Spencer…” Lassiter could hear the resolve draining from his voice.  He didn’t doubt Shawn could hear it too.

“Come on Lass, where’s the ‘anything for the case’ lawman I know and love?” Shawn asked.  “Besides…” he continued, his voice a little softer, “I really, _really_ , don’t wanna make friends with Master Steel and like you said I doubt he and his mugs’ll let me walk out of here if you leave me alone.”

“You can walk out of here whenever you want Spencer.” said Lassiter, “You’re an idiot but that doesn’t mean someone gets to touch you without your consent.  You don’t honestly think I’d sit by while…”

“Aww…” Shawn cut him off, “You _do_ care.”

“I’m a cop Shawn.  It’s my job to protect civilians from assault.”

There was a fleeting, indeterminate look in Shawn’s eyes that made Lassiter feel almost guilty, although he wasn’t quite sure why he should.  It was over too quickly for him to really process it, replaced by Shawn’s typical sardonic twinkle.

“And your job to catch murders.” said Shawn, “So come on pal, get up on that stage and spank me for justice.”

No.

No.

No.

No.

“Fine.” said Lassiter.  He tugged Shawn away from the wall and pushed him towards the stage before he could change his mind.  He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking, not – _not_ he told himself – in anticipation of getting them on Shawn, but in dread of having to face the consequences afterwards.   Nearly every part of him knew that this is a bad, bad, very very bad idea.  Despite what Spencer thought Lassiter very much doubted that Vick would overlook her Head Detective stringing up a civilian in the interest of catching a serial killer and… and doing whatever it was he was going to do with him.  Lassiter couldn’t bring himself to think ahead that far, another indication of what a bad idea this was.  Bad.  Except for the part of him that _insisted_ that this was a good idea.  A great idea.  Probably the best idea he’d ever had. 

The stage was small, barely more than a raised platform, really.  There was a short table with various clean toys (and a bucket of bleach under it to toss them in when the scene was over), including a large pump bottle of lube.  There was a simple, adjustable hook dangling over the center, Lassiter eyed it and decided it was already close enough to what he needed for Shawn’s height that there was no need to fiddle with it.  A door behind the stage let to the backroom, other than that the only exit was through the audience.  The whole thing was lit by a couple of theatrical lights, washing it in a cool blue glow.

Lassiter released Shawn.  “Take off the vest.” said Lassiter.  He pulled his cuffs out of his back pocket while Shawn followed the instruction. 

Shawn positioned himself under the hook without being asked and Lassiter took Shawn’s right hand in his, snapping the cuff in place.  He raised it over Shawn’s head, Shawn brought his left up to join it. 

“Safe word?” asked Lassiter.

“Um…” said Shawn.

Lassiter arched an eyebrow, “You do know what a safe word is?”

Shawn rolled his eyes.  “Just give me a second; I’m trying to think of something good.”

“It doesn’t need to be good, Spencer, just simple and memorable.”

“Pineapple.” said Shawn.

“No.” said Lassiter, “It needs to be something you wouldn’t normally say during sex.”

“Kumquat.”

“No.”

“Rhubarb?” asked Shawn.

“Rhubarb.” Lassiter repeated. “Rhubarb.  Got it.  I’m going to trust you to use that if you need to.”

“I appreciate that.” answered Shawn.  Lassiter pressed his lips together.  It was funny… Shawn sounded almost sincere.  Lassiter snorted.  Shawn was a better actor than he’d given him credit for.  He closed the cuff around Shawn’s left wrist and secured his hands in place over the hook.  He tested the slack and glanced down.  Shawn was staring at him with wide, dilated eyes.  His mouth hung open and he ran his tongue over his lower lip like he expected Lassiter to kiss him.  Kiss him like Shawn was his lover.  Such a fat little lip… but no.  Lassiter didn't have a right put his mouth on him, no matter that Shawn was as good as asking for it. Shawn wasn’t his lover. Shawn wasn't his anything.

"Don’t look at me." said Lassiter.  Shawn dropped his gaze immediately; his long lashes forming the most perfect little U's as he stared at the floor.  It was such a classic gesture of submission that Lassiter felt the rising bile of anger creeping into his throat.  Shawn was taunting him. Playing the scene too well, an attempt to get Lassiter to forget himself, no doubt.  Shawn had never been discrete with his vanity; he'd made it painfully clear that he knew exactly how attractive he was.  He'd always used his looks against Lassiter - touching him, pressing against him, mocking him with complements and innuendo - and that was before he knew about Lassiter's bisexuality. He could only imagine how much worse it would be after tonight.  Even now, in front of a room full of strangers, Shawn was lording his youth, his taut body, his perfect face, over Lassiter.  Giving him just a taste of what he could never have, knowing that however little tonight meant to Shawn, Lassiter would think about it for the rest of his life.  Shawn was probably getting off on it.  It was probably what got him hard in the first place.  Lassiter had been an idiot to imagine anything else.

Fine. Fine. He'd never expected to have Shawn anyway.  It had been a - Lassiter couldn't bring himself to use the word 'fantasy', even in his own thoughts - it had been a passing idea, nothing more.  Except, of course, he did have Shawn.  For the moment, at least.  He'd make the best of it.  If this was all he'd ever get it then hell if he wouldn't make the best of it.

Lassiter ran his hands over Shawn’s chest, teasing his little brown nipples hard, then taking each between his thumb and two fingers and rolling them, slowly applying more pressure until Shawn winced and hissed for him.

“These would look nice in clothespins.” Lassiter observed, “Maybe some clamps…” He gave Shawn’s right nipple a sharp twist, then dug in a little with his nails, testing Shawn’s threshold.  Shawn didn’t pull away.  Promising.  Still, Lassiter wanted to keep this simple. “Maybe next time.” he muttered, releasing his hold.  Shawn gave him a quick glance before lowering his eyes again.

Lassiter undid Shawn’s jeans and pushed them unceremoniously down to his ankles, taking Shawn’s boxers with them and exposing Shawn to the rest of the club.  Lassiter glanced over his shoulder just once to confirm he had the crowd’s attention before letting himself take a real look at Shawn.  Lassiter scowled – of course.  Shawn outshone him in everything else, no reason that this should be different.  Not that Lassiter was comparing.  Size wasn’t the most important thing, after all, and… whatever.  Fuck it.  It just gave Lassiter more to work with.  He gave Shawn a couple perfunctory strokes before leaving him to hang in front of the gathered men while Lassiter examined his options laid out on the table. 

There were the standard assortment of small whips and paddles, some mostly for show; some designed to inflict real pain.  Lassiter singled out a short cat-o-nine tails, setting it on the table’s edge.  He passed over the various clamps and weights, the parachute stretchers and the crushers, took a moment to seriously consider the gates of hell, but ultimately settled on a long and thin leather cord. 

He took the cord to Shawn and wordlessly wound it around Shawn’s balls, then up around the base of his cock, just tight enough to keep Shawn hard. He’d make a damn poor excuse for a sub if he lost it once Lassiter started laying into him. Lassiter ran a thumb up the soft ridge of flesh on the underside of Shawn’s dick then swirled it around the head. Shawn hummed in appreciation. Lassiter followed his hand with the cord, crisscrossing it up Shawn’s length so that neat diamonds of flesh showed through. He looped it twice around Shawn’s waste then tied it off with a quick release knot. The effect was perfect. Shawn, hard and held flush against his stomach, pink skin against brown leather, pink, but turning redder from the contact. Shawn’s balls pushed ever so slightly forward from his body. Lassiter cupped them in his hand and rolled, savoring the heft and the heat and the soft dusting of hair against his fingertips. Lassiter kept up the attentions - teasing Shawn’s balls, tracing the patterns of the cord along his shaft, smearing pre-come from his slit over his cockhead – until Shawn was bucking up into his hand. Shawn’s eyes were glazed, his mouth was open - he was as ready as he was going to be.

Lassiter picked up the cat-o-nine tails, gripping the handle in his right hand and running his fingers of his left through the soft leather strands.  He held it in front of Shawn, letting him see it, see that it was short, supple, without the knots or barbs that so many of the crueler varieties came with.  He skimmed it across Shawn’s chest, then over his stomach, letting the tips of the strands tickle at the head of Shawn’s cock.  Shawn’s responsive shutter had nothing to do with fear.

“Tell me your safe-word.” said Lassiter.

Shawn blinked a few times before answering, clearly surprised at being spoken to. “Why?” he finally asked, “I’m fine, it’s fine.  Keep going.”

“I’m not going to stop; I just need to know you remember it.” said Lassiter.

“Rhubarb.” said Shawn.

“Good boy.”

A slow flush crept over Shawn’s cheeks at the praise.  Lassiter wet his lower lip with his tongue as he watched the spread of embarrassment from Shawn’s face to the tips of his ears.  The color looked good on Shawn.  Lassiter resolved to turn as much of the rest of his skin pink as he could.

He started easy; slow brushes over Shawn’s shoulder blades, quick flicks to his inner thighs, teasing nips at the round of his ass.  At first, Shawn jerked with each contact, hissing little protests as the leather touched his skin, but he seemed to settle into it as he realized the slash of air before each blow was sharper than the actual sting.  He waited until he saw the muscles around Shawn’s shoulders relax a little before he let himself start to enjoy it too.

Lassiter worked Shawn’s upper body, moving to Shawn’s side so he could lick the whip over Shawn’s shoulder blades and side before catching his chest on the back swing.  Shawn made a satisfying little yelp each time his nipple met the leather, Lassiter assured himself with a glance at Shawn’s cock that it wasn’t a yelp of pain.  Not the bad kind of pain at least. 

He kept it up until Shawn was good and flushed, never hard enough in his blows to leave streaks of welts, just enough for a nice, even glow.  He lay a hand over Shawn’s heart, feeling out the pulse under the heated skin, grazing the hard little nub of nipple with his palm.  Shawn moaned and pressed into his hand.  Lassiter withdrew it immediately.

Taking position behind Shawn he started in with the whip again, this time in long, rhythmic strokes.  He caught the tails of the whip with his free hand after each blow, drawing them back so they wouldn’t fall limp in the air and break the momentum.  He confined himself to the fleshiest parts of Shawn’s ass, focusing all his attention on the black strands against pale skin, then pink skin, then red skin.  Redder than he intended, he’d whipped Shawn’s skin enough that the ache would stay for days.  Shawn hadn’t asked him to stop.  He was groaning his pleasure with each blow, pushing his ass back in lewd invitation, welcoming each touch.  Spreading his legs as much as he could with his jeans around his ankles, allowing Lassiter just a glimpse of… fuck.  Fuck.   Fuck _yes._  That. Lassiter needed to _own_ that.

He let the whip fall once more then dropped it to the side, earning himself a disappointed moan from the audience, possibly from Shawn as well, it was hard to tell.  All Lassiter could see was his back, still arching, his legs still open.  It was a universal gesture of invitation.  An invitation Lassiter had to refuse, no matter how tempting it might be.  Shawn was enjoying himself, which was good – Lassiter wouldn’t have been able to live with this if he wasn’t – but Shawn was young, Shawn was a civilian, it was up to Lassiter to make sure this didn’t go too far.  Still.  Still… it would be rude not to give Spencer a little reward for his good behavior. 

Lassiter chose a gleaming steel plug from the table with an elegant tulip-bulb shape.  It wasn’t large, by any means, but it was big enough that Shawn wouldn’t accidentally squeeze it out… big enough that he would feel it.  Lassiter squirted it liberally with a clear, unscented lubricant, then covered his own  fingers with the stuff.  A few of the watching men called out tasteless encouragements as he approached Shawn. 

Lassiter didn’t waste time with caresses, just pressed a wet finger against Shawn’s hole.  Shawn jumped, just a little, at the contact and Lassiter held still.  Shawn braced himself, but Lassiter didn’t move.  Shawn shifted impatiently. 

“You want this?” Lassiter asked.

“Did you hear me use my safeword?” Shawn answered through gritted teeth.

“It’s right here Shawn.” said Lassiter, turning his finger a little for emphasis, “You want it?  Take it.”

Shawn made a momentarily confused noise followed by a low groan of understanding.  He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed back, taking Lassiter’s finger inside him.  Lassiter hissed at the sensation, Shawn hot and tight around him.  Tight. Far too tight.

Lassiter leaned forward and whispered in Shawn’s ear, “Your cover sucks.” he told him, “A real sub would never have dreamed about coming here without stretching himself first.”

“Noted…” Shawn mumbled, taking Lassiter’s finger deeper. 

Lassiter chuckled.  He waited until his second knuckle was buried in Shawn before he started to help him, twisting his finger, adding a second, seeking out the cluster of nerves that would make Shawn scream for him.  As predicted, Shawn let him know the moment he found it.

“Oh, you like that?” Lassiter asked. “Do you?  You like my fingers in your ass Shawn?  You like me stretching you open?”

“I, uh… um. Lass…” Shawn stammered.

Lassiter tutted, “That’s not too convincing Spencer.  Maybe you don’t like this, hmm?  Maybe it’s not enough?  Maybe you need more?”

Shawn nodded.

“Not good enough.” said Lassiter, scissoring his fingers, “You need to ask for it.  Ask me to give you more.”

“Damn it!” Shawn snapped as Lassiter curled his fingertips, “Yeah, yes… yes, Lassie, more.”

“Say please.”

Shawn didn’t answer.  Lassiter smirked.  Good.  He’d never liked pushovers. 

Lassiter  pulled out his fingers and positioned the plug at Shawn’s entrance, ready to punish his disobedience with a fast, hard penetration when doubt stilled his hand.  He didn’t like to play with anyone without talking through it first, especially not – especially not whatever Shawn was… an acquaintance… a co-worker… maybe a friend.  It was a little late for a full history but still, he had to ask, "You done this before?"

"Been strung up in the middle of a bondage bar?" asked Shawn, "No, can’t say that I have.  Although, there was that one time that Gus duct taped me to a chair in Lonnie Mitchell’s tree house, does that count?”

Smart ass. “I don't know Spencer,” Lassiter asked, “Did he strip and fuck you afterwards?" Lassiter twisted the plug to emphasize the question.

"No." Shawn squeaked, pressing back almost imperceptibly towards Lassiter. 

"Well then the situation's hardly comparable, is it?" asked Lassiter.

"Um..."

"Is it?" Lassiter repeated.

"I guess not."

Lassiter gave a short laugh.  "You guess...” he shifted his grip on the plug so he could tap the base of it with his finger, not hard enough to drive it in, just enough so that Shawn would feel the vibrations against his hole.  Tap. Tap. Tap.  Shawn was damned near keening.  “Now,” said Lassiter, low and gruff against Shawn’s ear, “I'm going to ask again and I want a serious answer this time. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes." Shawn gasped.

"Good.  Then tell me, Spencer…” Lassiter punctuated each word with a tap, “… have you ever taken it up the ass?"

"Yeah." Shawn answered.

"Of course you have." muttered Lassiter.  Of course he had.  Lassiter couldn’t count the number of times he’d watched Shawn come on to a witness or bystander at a crime scene, or even a suspect, if she was particularly pretty.  Assuming Shawn was as forward with the men he was interested in he’d probably taken half the available cock in Santa Barbara by now.  Every cock except his.  Slut.  Dirty slut. He’d make damned sure Shawn wanted him just as badly as he'd wanted anyone before this was over.

“You love that, don’t you?” Lassiter asked. “You fucking love it.  Come on.  Take it.  Take it like you mean it.” He pulled the plug out a little, then worked it back in.  Slow, at first, so Shawn could adjust to the feel, then faster as Shawn loosened, opening himself to the invasion.

Shawn was coming undone, mouthing something over and over in between moans.  Lassiter had to grip him by the hair and pull his head back to watch the words on Shawn’s lips before he realized what they were.

“Fuck me.” Shawn whispered, “Fuck me. Fuck me, Lass.  Please. Please…”

Right.  Like he'd ever give Shawn that satisfaction.  "I don't fuck what I don't know is clean." Lassiter hissed.

"Clean." groaned Shawn, " 'M clean. Swear to God Lassie, I'm clean."

Lassiter snorted. "The day I start taking your word for anything is the day I turn in my badge.”

There was a moment of something almost like hurt in Shawn’s eyes, but Lassiter killed it with a final, firm thrust of the plug before it could bloom into a full expression.  Shawn’s head dropped forward and he gave a delicious cry of pain and pleasure and frustration that sent ripples of sympathetic moans through the crowd.  The crowd.  Lassiter had almost forgotten them.  Nearly all of the men watching them had their cocks in their hands - or in someone else’s hands - some stroking, some just holding them, pointing them red and angry at Shawn.  A growl edged into the back of Lassiter’s throat.  One word from him and half the club would be up on the stage, touching Shawn, rutting on him, poking and pulling at his body like he was just another piece of meat.  Like he was any other young slut off the street looking to get it however he could.  Like he was nothing.

Lassiter’s wrapped his arms almost subconsciously around Shawn’s torso.  He pulled him back against him, pressing his full length along Shawn’s back, long past caring if Shawn could feel his erection through his trousers.  Shawn pushed back, wiggling against Lassiter’s crotch, giving the slightest little gasps as the contact shifted the plug inside him. Lassiter thrust, just once, just to feel it and Shawn’s eyes squeezed shut. 

“Shawn.” Lassiter whispered against Shawn’s ear, low enough so only Shawn could hear it.  Shawn whimpered. _Whimpered_.  Lassiter held him just a little tighter.  “Shawn.” he repeated, “Open your eyes.”

Shawn did, slowly, like it hurt him to do it.  He blinked a little against the light and tried to turn his head to Lassiter, but Lassiter stopped him by pressing his cheek to Shawn’s.  Stubble rough and sheened with sweat, Lassiter allowed his lips to open, his tongue to sneak out for just the softest taste, a lick so subtle he doubted Shawn could even feel it, before he spoke again.

“Focus.  Focus Shawn.” Lassiter murmured, running his hands over Shawn’s chest, over the trail of hair along his stomach, over the curves of his hipbones, fingers just skimming the tops of Shawn’s thighs.  “Remember why we’re here.  These men, Shawn.  Is one of them our killer?  Come on, tell me.  Tell me what you know.”

Shawn took a deep breath and nodded, scratching his cheek against Lassiter’s as he did.  Lassiter watched as Shawn’s eyes narrowed and started to dart, almost at random around the room.  Lassiter had seen Shawn do it a dozen times, maybe more, always assuming it was just another part of Shawn’s act, but the state Shawn was in – hard and wanting and so close to the edge – he doubted Shawn would draw his precious ‘reveal’ out any longer than he needed to.  He was… he was doing… something.  Not something psychic, Lassiter was still sure of that, but _something_.  Something real.  God.  He had no idea how Shawn worked, no idea what, no idea _who_ he really was.  For the first time Lassiter realized he desperately wanted to.

Shawn went suddenly still in his arms.  “Second row back, third from the right.” he mumbled under his breath.

Lassiter scanned the crowd as casually as he could, eyes resting on the man Shawn had named.  Caucasian, mid-30’s, cropped brown hair, thin wire glasses.  Innocuous.  Lassiter had seen him around once or twice, but they’d never spoken.  He’d run his background, no criminal history.  He struggled for a moment to remember the name that went with the face.  C… something.  Something short.  Right.  Clay, Clay Mindel.  A fucking High School teacher.

“You sure?” Lassiter asked. Shawn nodded.  Good enough.

Lassiter released his hold, stepping away from Shawn.  Shawn slumped against his chains with a pitiful little squeak of a protest at the loss.  Lassiter turned his back to the crowd and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hiding it in the palm of his hand.  He took the bottle of water from the table and made a show of taking a long drink while he texted O’Hara.  Her response came almost instantly.  He snapped the phone shut and turned back to Shawn.  “O’Hara’s on her way with backup.” he told him softly, “She’ll take him in.”

“You aren’t doing it?” Shawn asked.

“With you exposed up here?  Of course not.  He could be armed.  Come on; let’s get you out of here.” Lassiter reached up for the chains around Shawn’s wrists.  Shawn jerked suddenly, Lassiter pulled back in alarm, “What?” he asked.

Shawn was looking down at the floor, his ears quickly turning the deepest red shade of embarrassment Lassiter had ever seen. 

“What?” Lassiter repeated softly, “What do you need?”

“I… I, uh…” Shawn looked helplessly at his own bound cock.  Whatever arousal Lassiter had felt before was a joke compared to the bolt that sent through him.

“Oh.” Lassiter rasped, his voice so thick with gravel he barely recognized it, “Oh.  You wanna come.  Is that it?”

Shawn nodded rapidly in silent confirmation and Lassiter’s heart introduced itself to his throat.  Shawn wanted to come. Shawn wanted to come for him.  Shawn wanted Lassiter to make him come.  There wasn’t any way he could say no to that.  Only the knowledge that the room would fill up with his coworkers in a matter of minutes kept Lassiter from dropping to his knees then and there.  He wrapped an arm again around Shawn’s chest and hissed rapid promises into Shawn’s ear as he lifted the cuffs from their hook with his free hand.  “Soon.” Lassiter whispered, “Soon, soon.  Just come with me, you need to come with me, okay?  Come on, you can do it.”

Lassiter positioned Shawn’s cuffed hands behind Shawn’s head and held them there.  He pulled Shawn’s jeans and briefs up to Shawn’s mid-thigh so Shawn would be able to walk without looking like a penguin and shuffled him off towards the back room.  Lassiter ignored the disappointed calls from the crowd, shutting the door as soon as he and Shawn crossed the threshold.

The room was small and dimly lit with just a few large beanbag chairs covered in clean sheets, some stacks of white towels, a first aid kit and a white noise machine for décor.  It wasn’t intended to be for sex, but rather as a place for subs to recover from intense scenes under the care of their dominants.  It was the first time he and Shawn had been alone since this started, Lassiter realized, and the thought made the space feel unbearably intimate.  A big part of him wanted to run – maybe go participate in the sting in the main room after all, or go back to the station, or just go home and stand under a cold shower until he caught hypothermia – but he couldn’t in good conscience leave Shawn in the state he was in, not if he ever wanted to be able to look him in the eye again.

Lassiter turned Shawn to the wall and gently lifted Shawn’s hands over his head.  “Brace yourself.” he told him.  Shawn complied, spreading his hands flat in front of him.  Lassiter let Shawn’s jeans drop again to the floor and settled himself behind Shawn, pressing a hand flat against Shawn’s chest to lean his back into him.  Lassiter used his free hand to release the knot holding the leather cord taut.  Shawn exclaimed loudly as it fell slack at the sensation of the blood rushing into his no longer constricted skin.  “Okay, it’s okay.” Lassiter assured him, “I’ve got you.”

Lassiter unwound the cord as quickly as he could, letting it spool onto the floor.  He took Shawn’s cock carefully in his hand, taking a sharp breath at the heat of it, and gave it a soft down stroke.  Shawn thrust forward into Lassiter’s fist, and Lassiter let him, keeping his hand almost still as Shawn set the pace with his hips.  He groaned the first time Shawn’s ass made contact with his still confined erection, a sound Shawn echoed in agreement.   Lassiter dropped his head forward and sucked the skin at the base of Shawn’s neck into his mouth.  It would leave a mark.  Shawn didn’t seem to care.

Lassiter took his cue from Shawn’s abandon and ground himself against Shawn, grateful to have skin under his tongue to block the litany of words he wanted to moan into Shawn’s ear.  He wanted to call him his slut, his boy, his cockwhore, his slave, his… anything, as long as it was _his._  He wanted to list all the things he’d ever thought of doing to Shawn; bend him over his desk, pin him against the interrogation room mirror, drop him to his knees, push a spider gag into his mouth and shut him up the only way he’d ever really wanted to, tie him to his bed and tease him for hours, stuff him with ice and ginger until he begged for it to stop, drip wax across his already smooth skin, tug his hair while he used his ass, lock him in his house so he’d be there waiting for him when he got off shift, keep him in his bed warm against his skin while they both slept, wrap an arm around him and pretend to listen while Shawn went off on whatever inanity popped into his head, lean against him on the couch and share popcorn while they watched some stupid late night movie,  hold him when a case went bad, kiss congratulations into  him when it didn’t... he wanted to list them all and turn them into promises. Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  This was going to kill him.

Lassiter bit into Shawn’s skin, just hard enough to leave angry red teeth marks and squeezed his eyes shut.  Shawn was so quiet - all gasps and groans - Lassiter had expected words.  Without them, it was impossible to know what Shawn was getting from this or to tell if he was even really here.  He could be thinking about anything, anyone else.  Some model, and actress, O’Hara even – although Lassiter prayed to god that wasn’t it.  He forced himself still, to let Shawn use his hand as whatever he needed it to be.  His cock twitched in protest, but Lassiter ignored it.  This couldn’t be about what he wanted.  He’d already taken too much.

It was over soon enough.  Shawn gave a few final thrusts then came, moaning and thrashing into Lassiter’s hand.  Lassiter waited until he felt Shawn go weak kneed and boneless in his arms before carefully leading him over to one of the beanbags and laying him on his side.  He wiped his hand clean on one of the towels then undid the cuffs, slipping them back into his pocket.  Shawn watched him with heavily lidded eyes as he pulled Shawn’s pants and briefs back up to his waist, tucking Shawn into them with minimal contact to his sensitive, flaccid cock.  Shawn mumbled something.

“What?” asked Lassiter, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t come.” Shawn repeated.

“It’s okay.” said Lassiter, “Don’t worry about it.”

“ ‘S not.” said Shawn, moving to prop himself up and reach for Lassiter’s crotch.

“No.” said Lassiter, “No, Shawn.”  He caught Shawn’s hands in his and eased him back down again, lying himself down next to Shawn and draping an arm over him so he could hold him there.  “I don’t want you to worry about that.  Just rest, okay?”

Shawn shook his head. “I can take care of you.”

“No. Shawn, just… please.”

“I don’t mind.” Shawn insisted.

"Please." Lassiter repeated, "Please, Shawn.  I gave you what you needed.  Just give me this.  Just for a moment. Please..."

Shawn made a soft, confused ‘hurm, but acquiesced, going still in Lassiter’s arm.  Lassiter drew him close to his chest so Shawn's head was tucked just under his chin, Shawn's breath tickling his exposed collar bone.  He ran his hands down Shawn's back and buried his nose in his damp hair.  He breathed in, closed his eyes, and even though he knew he'd regret it, Lassiter let himself pretend Shawn was his.

He must have drifted off; it couldn't have been for more than a few minutes, nevertheless when he opened his eyes again, Shawn was gone.

***

That Spencer didn’t show up at the station the next day was a relief.  That he didn’t show up the second day was understandable.  By the third day, Lassiter was a little worried.  By the fourth day he was just angry.  There was no reason for Shawn to be hiding, Lassiter had left out the details of his and Shawn’s interactions at the club in his report and if anyone suspected the omission they had the good sense to keep quiet about it.  Shawn had nothing to be embarrassed about and neither did Lassiter.  His personal proclivities were legal and no one’s business but his own and, although he’d gone back and forth in his mind a dozen times on the issue, he’d finally allowed himself to decide that Shawn was an adult - a consenting adult - who could have said ‘no’ at any time.  It wasn’t the first time Lassiter had slept – if that’s what you could call it – with a coworker, he was damn sure it wasn’t the first time Shawn had.  There was no reason to make an issue about it, but that’s exactly what Shawn’s avoidance was doing.  Yes, the first time seeing each other again would be awkward, full of stilted sentences and a pointed lack of eye contact… or maybe forced carelessness and bad jokes, but whatever it was, Lassiter could deal.  Even if Shawn showed up angry and cursed him out in front of the entire station he could deal.  He could deal with anything but the waiting. 

He had just come back to his desk from pouring himself his fourth cup of coffee when his attention was caught by a large manila envelope sitting in his chair.  He recognized Spencer’s writing on it immediately.  Big, scratchy letters, “YOU DON’T HAVE TO TAKE MY WORD FOR IT…” with a sharpie drawing of what Lassiter assumed was supposed to be a rainbow underneath.  Lassiter swallowed and glanced around nervously, ensuring himself of his privacy while he tore open the top of the envelope.  A hundred worst case scenarios flashed through his mind.  An accusatory letter… some kind of pornography… documentation from the club…  If there were _any_ pictures of him in here he was going to kill Spencer, he meant it this time.

It took a minute of staring at the paper he pulled out before he understood what it was.  It was just one page, results of a blood test, Spencer’s blood test.  Clean across the board.  It took another minute before he understood what it meant.  It took barely a second before he was out the door.

Shawn was waiting outside, leaning against Lassiter’s car, drumming his fingers nervously across the hood.  Lassiter caught his eye and glared.  “Spencer! Get the hell off my vehicle!”

Shawn snapped upright immediately, stepping clear of the car.  A quick, obedient response.

Lassiter smiled.


End file.
